


here lies the water, here stands the man

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [4]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood, Fae & Fairies, Falling In Love, Fighting, Injury, Insecurity, Knives, M/M, Majestic Horse Smith, Self-Doubt, Urban Magic Yogs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the depths of the sea lies a kingdom.<br/>The castle is carved of ice and stone, coral and sand, and houses a clan of selkies inside it.</p><p>Up on the shore, the selkie prince sits, in human form with his skin wrapped around his waist.<br/>He spends time people-watching, learning all he can about the mortal world he is barred from participating in.</p><p>It's there up on the rocks, with the waves crashing over his feet, that he meets the kelpie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my library was dukedom large enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Months_ ago, after reading Dragestil’s “The Depth’s Call", I started thinking about my own version of Trott’s backstory. Way back in March of _2015_ was when I started piecing ideas together and writing UMY stuff. My oh my, how far we’ve come, eh?  
>  I had half of this written before I wrote “damned guilty deeds...” but I didn't plan on including so many connections and comments about it. Alluding to Trott’s past was simply an accident, but it worked really well with where the characters were going.  
> I feel bad, posting this after the heartache that was “to be or not to be”. This fic is rather dark at times. Not quite in the same way as "to be or not to be" was, but it's rough nonetheless. But it feels like the right time for me to post it, for a lot of reasons.  
> So here it is, Trott’s backstory.  
> This is why he left the sea.  
> This is where his story begins- with a kelpie.
> 
> all cws for fic in total: Graphic Violence, Abuse, Knives, Blood, Fighting, Wounds, Self-Doubt, Insecurity, Injuries.  
> mentions of death, drowning and fae manipulation.  
> also, low self esteem, some feelings of hopelessness, and a brief mention of medical implements/really bad past injuries (body horror? not sure).  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know. If you have any questions about the work, don’t hesitate to ask.
> 
> chp 1 cws: abuse, fighting, mention of medical implements/past injuries, insecurity/body image.

In the depths of the sea lies a kingdom.

Carved of ice and stone, coral and sand, the castle houses a clan of selkies. The halls are cold and barren; the walls are ornate but lack light and warmth. It is seldom that light penetrates the water and travels into the depths at which the castle lies.

Because of this, the castle is always kept in shadow.

Only at the deepest levels does artificial light exist. The brightest light is used for the king and his duties as commander and warchief of his tribe.

Three levels above the bottom of the sea is the library, dimly lit at all hours of the night, despite the teachers and scholars having gone to bed hours before.

No light shines in the highest tower. From this tower, a shadow creeps, down to the library.

 

* * *

 

_“Hardly an inch, boy.” The doctor tuts. “Your height has not grown since the summer.”_

_Trott says nothing. He stares at himself in the mirror, a boy nearly a man with wiry limbs and brown hair. His reflection makes his body look even more sickly as the doctor prods upon him._

_“Stand up straighter- slouching is unbecoming of a prince.” The doctor tuts again. He sees frailty in Trott’s bones and weakness in his spine. Calipers poke and pull at Trott’s skin, measuring._

_The doctor’s wrinkled hands are as cold as his metal implements._

_From the look in his eyes, he thinks Trott’s a lost cause._

_Trott hears the doctor talk with his mother about his lack of growth. It was the same conversation every few months- how he could count his ribs as easily as a fish’s skeleton, how his height was deformed, surely, because his younger siblings towered over him._

_Everywhere they looked, they saw mistakes._

_“You must eat more, child.” His mother nags, and still Trott gains no weight. “Train with your siblings and you will grow stronger.” She tells him, and yet he gains no muscle mass._

_He comes back from his “training” one night with broken ribs and a busted spleen. The doctor scowls as he works to heal him, and his mother frets. Trott stares up at the ceiling, eyes swimming with pain, as his father berates him for his impudence._

_“If you learned from your siblings instead of sneaking about, you might not be so_ weak _.” The selkie king snarls at Trott’s bedside._

_His siblings had been the ones to drag him back in a hardly conscious state. Instead of taking the blame from their mother for Trott’s injuries, they lied and said he had earned the punishment._

_The scowl framing his father’s face is in the likeness of a shark. “You break the rules again, boy, and I’ll have your hide.”_

_The doctor’s magic makes Trott feel frozen to the bone. His mother coos softly and gets in the doctor’s way as she tries to soothe her son._

_“Child, you mustn't worry me so. It is unbecoming of a prince to run away.” She pets the side of Trott’s face, and he turns from her._

_He doesn’t want her comfort. It’s not comfort when every truth is a lie; not when his life is a living hell._

_His mother scoffs at his stubbornness, despite the fact that he learned how to be stubborn from her. “No future king leaves his people. You will do well to remember your duty.”_

_“This is who you are.” His father adds in, gaze stern. “It is time you took that role seriously.”_

 

* * *

 

Trott isn’t sure if he considers himself lucky to make it to adulthood. The broken bones, the wounds, and the lies aren’t worth the years.

_You will never be good enough._

_You will never be strong enough._

_You will never amount to anything._

He shakes his head and lets the memories fade to the back of his mind. It wasn’t worth to dwell upon, and he has work to do.

The locks to the library slide open with a twist of his fingers. It’s pathetic how easily he can get what he wants from books, but since he can’t do anything else right, it feels like a stroke of luck that he’s allowed this much.

He’s read most of the books in the library, save for a few left in the restricted section he hasn’t completed. The restricted section is by far the most interesting. Off limits for whatever reason, and Trott would ignore that rule again and again. The first thing he learned when he started sneaking down here at night was about magical lockpicking. It had served him better than the hours of training he did in the daytime- he’d pick locks over fights if given the choice.

Trott moves slowly from shelf to shelf. His ocean blue eyes scan the titles in the dim light, straining to identify the letters. Glowing crystals are embedded along the ceiling in even intervals, but his eyes have never been able to adapt to the darkness like the eyes of his siblings have.

The selkie prince traces runes along the far columns and heads towards the back of the room. The stone staircase to the upper floor slides out of the wall, and he climbs it slowly. Step after step. Cautious.

Trott’s limbs ache as he creeps upstairs. The library is empty, but he hesitates at the top and listens.

There’s nothing but the sound of his own breath and the sea’s quiet rumble.

Trott moves into the restricted section more confidently and quickly finds what he’s looking for.

"Microbiology...microbiology...aha. Here it is." He smiles and carefully removes the tome from the shelf.

Trott settles in one of the chairs dotted around the room. With a tired sigh, he flips through the pages and starts to read.

Everything he’s learned about the world, he’s read in books. He reads everything he can get access to, and if he can’t access it, he learns how. His father has kept so much from him, but Trott doesn’t care to hear the reasons why. He’s sure the selkie king would profess to it being unimportant.

 _If you’re to be a king, you needn't waste your time reading._ Trott can hear his father say. _Books are for scholars, not for princes. That ‘knowledge’ doesn’t help you if your weakness shows on the outside, and no amount of reading is going to make you stronger._

Trott scowls and stares harder at the pages. He reads the words until he forgets what he’s heard before. All this research is worth something, no matter what anyone else says. But it’s hard to learn new things when you’re leagues under the sea and aren’t allowed inland.

He spends time on shore people-watching, when he’s not obligated somewhere else. Usually when his father is preoccupied with work that he doesn’t want Trott a part of. His mother worries when she hears about his expeditions, but he’s ignored by humans when he’s up on the shore. No one wants to talk to a half-naked scrawny guy on the rocks. Humans would rather lay in the sun and talk amongst themselves.

Being on the shore helps Trott learn. He’s picked up bits of language from hearing the humans speak. Reading their language is easier by far, but spoken word is coming together the more time he spends on it. When he’s sure he’s alone, he practices his pronunciation. Whispering syllables in the wind, testing new words as if tasting them on his tongue.

Sometimes Trott finds magazines and newspapers on the beach. Left behind by the human sunbathers, they are the only glimpse he has of the world beyond the sea. Places with cars and movie theatres, hospitals and schools, dances and carnivals. People of all kinds.

It’s a world Trott wishes he could go to.

But his life is the sea, and so the sea is where he stays.

Trott keeps to his book until his eyes are too heavy to keep open. He notes what time it is by the shadows in the water, and decidedly puts his book back onto the shelf.

Glimmering fish swim past the window slits, casting occasional shadows into the library. The species aren’t pleasant to eat, but they’re pretty to look at. Much like the selkie kingdom itself. Pretty on the outside, unpleasant underneath.

Trott slowly locks everything back up. He slips away to his tower in secret, as if he had never been anywhere else the whole time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Where The River Meets The Sea playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/22WwWCgvRnNhHnHrsg6NVk)
> 
>   [ tracklist ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/where-the-river-meets-the-sea-playlist/)
> 
>   [ reblog? ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/here-lies-the-water-here-stands-the-man-ghostofgatsby/)
> 
> “Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here  
> stands the man; good; if the man go to this water,  
> and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he  
> goes,--mark you that; but if the water come to him  
> and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he  
> that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.”  
> \---First clown to the second, Act 5 scene 1 of Hamlet
> 
> “my library was dukedom large enough”  
> -Prospero to his daughter, Act 1 scene 2 The Tempest
> 
> the entrance to the selkie kingdom (looks underwater to me):  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/117437718230/silenceforthesoul-antonio-munoz-degrain-nymphs
> 
> http://megarah-moon.tumblr.com/post/124781560420/seals-by-kelly-robinson  
> give them tusks and they're walrus selkies. I picture Trott like the brown-orange one on the mossy rocks.
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/138490292769/jonahreenders-exploring-the-northern-coast-of  
> where the river meets the sea


	2. something rich and strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter one could be interpreted at any point in Trott's life (probably at any point from pre-teens, onward). however, after chapter 1, Trott is and looks approx. 21 in human years at this point in the series. (Smith, 23)
> 
> chp 2 cws: abuse, fighting, bruises, arguing, insecurity/body image. brief mention of a knife.  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know. 
> 
> [ Where The River Meets The Sea playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/22WwWCgvRnNhHnHrsg6NVk)
> 
>   [ tracklist ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/where-the-river-meets-the-sea-playlist/)
> 
>   [ reblog? ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/here-lies-the-water-here-stands-the-man-ghostofgatsby/)

Cold waves crash over Trott’s feet where he sits on the edge of a rocky outcropping. He’s in human form, up on the shore with his skin wrapped around his waist. The sky is overcast, and cloudy, but Trott would rather be up here than under the sea.

He picks up a rock from his side and hurls it ahead of him. It hits the surface of the water with a splash, and quickly sinks beneath the tide.

Trott sighs, and finds another rock. The sea spray makes his face feel damp. He throws the second rock farther than the first, and watches it become submerged.

The wind blows up behind him. It ruffles his hair and brings a strong waft of something that smells like algae and kelp. Trott hears soft clunking noises, sounding like shell on a rock, and the sound of shifting fabric. His hand grazes over the knife tucked in his selkie skin, and he turns to look over his shoulder.

There’s a young man not much older than himself standing there. He’s taller than him by several inches, wearing only a white t-shirt and khaki pants. His auburn hair is styled up with some sort of product, like Trott’s seen in magazines, and thin stubble lines his cheeks. He looks human, but Trott can sense the charm magic rising off of him in waves.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” The young man asks Trott, tilting his head to the side pensively and smiling.

Trott chuckles and flashes a not-exactly-friendly grin. “Nope. Water’s fine, actually.” He replies, wiggling his toes. “Care for a swim?”

The temperatures weren’t warm enough for beachgoers today- the sandy shores were deserted save for the two of them.

“Nah, mate, saltwater isn’t exactly my thing.” The creature runs his hand through his hair and flashes him a disarming smile. (He must be a kelpie, with the scent of the river and a charm like that.)

Trott gives him a tight-lipped smile in reply. The man’s attractive, sure, but the charm magic isn’t going to work.

The kelpie walks closer to him, grin faltering because his rising levels of charm don’t seem to have an effect. He gives Trott a heated look and sits down beside him, leaning back on his arms and stretching his lithe legs out over the edge of the rock. He tosses his head back and smiles. Another wave of magic ripples towards Trott.

Trott laughs and throws off the charm easily. “That doesn’t work on me, sunshine. Can’t out-charm a selkie, after all.” He says, shaking his head.

“So that’s what you are? I wasn’t sure.” The kelpie scoots towards Trott and looks him up and down. “Are selkies always this attractive?”

Trott glares daggers and turns back to the sea.

“What’s a fucking _kelpie_ doing up on the beach?” He asks back. “ _Your_ kind generally stay clear.”

“My ‘kind’ are travellers. Nothing wrong with seeing different places. But you wouldn’t know much about that, would you?” The kelpie’s words are smooth, and teasing. Even without charm magic, he has a way of speaking that sounds eloquent compared to Trott’s pieced-together human language.

Trott says nothing in response. He feels the kelpie’s magic dissipate like ocean spray into the air. He can feel them staring at him, but Trott just stares out at the waves.

“What’s your name?” The kelpie asks.

Trott frowns. “Why do you want to know?”

“Isn’t it common courtesy to exchange names when meeting someone new?”

“Exchanging names is a _human_ thing.” Trott tuts, giving the kelpie a side glance. “Why should I give you that so easily?”

“A nickname, then.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t mean you give your true name. That’s just stupid.”

“Why should I trust you with a version of mine, if I don’t know what to call you?” Trott counters.

“You can call me Smith. And you are?” Smith smiles, eyes glimmering in mischief.

The selkie prince watches him carefully, staring into eyes green as the granite in the ocean floor.

He clears his throat.

“Call me Trott.” He replies.

“ _T_ _rott_.” Smith clacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and smirks. “I like it.”

Trott huffs and turns away again. He can hear Smith shifting his posture on the rocks.

"What _is_ that you're wearing, by the way?" Smith asks.

Trott raises his eyebrow at the kelpie. "Why, that interested in my dick?" He gestures at his selkie skin in his lap.

Smith rolls his eyes. " _Fuck off._ I meant the thing on your head, you twat."

Trott scoffs. He subconsciously reaches up to make sure his hair isn't sticking up past the crown on his head. "It's a crown of seashells. Surely you must have found them on the beach before. Or is your head stuck too far up your ass?"

Smith shakes his head. "I've never seen an orange so vibrant."

Trott shrugs. Things could be vibrant under the sea, if you had enough light to see them with. "Saltwater and sand bleaches most things out." He answers.

"Bet your asshole's bleached to fuck, then." Smith replies cheekily.

" _Fuck you!_ "

Smith laughs. "Are you some sort of royalty?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do princes always sit on the beach half dressed?”

" _Piss off_ kelp boy." Trott scowls and stares out to sea.

"Oh come on. You must be royal, to wear a crown." The kelpie presses again.

" _I_ _t's none of your damn business what I am, got it?_ "

The venom in Trott's tone stuns Smith into silence. He picks sand off his pants and sneaks glances at the selkie.

"So..." Smith starts again. "What's it like?"

"What's _what_ like?" Trott sighs tiredly.

"Living in the sea."

Trott doesn’t reply for a long few moments, staring out into the horizon as waves crash against his feet.

"Cold." He says at last. "Wet."

Smith snorts. "'Course it's wet, it's water."

Trott smirks a little. "It's a joke. You'd think it'd be drier, with all the salt."

"Nah, mate. I'd know, I'm made of salt and my river runs just the same." Smith jokes back.

"What do you mean?" Trott looks over at him again, meeting Smith's eyes.

"Figuratively. If someone's salty it means they get angry and bitter about things.” Smith answers. He runs his fingers through his auburn hair and smiles.

Trott hums. "I've never heard that expression."

"Well, being salty as fuck is probably normal for you. Right?"

Trott can't hold back the scoff. "If you’re as salty as you say you are, you shouldn’t be able to see the difference."

Smith grins.

Trott shakes his head and hides a smile. He turns back to the sea and throws another rock into the waves, continuing where he left off before he was interrupted. His fingers rake the ground beside him, and he picks up another rock.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Smith skip a rock across the ocean’s surface.

“How’d you do that?” Trott asks interestedly, rubbing his thumb across the rock in his palm. Smith’s rock had skipped four or five times without stopping. He’s never seen that before...

Smith picks up another rock and smiles. “It’s easy. Let me show you.”

 

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, Trott was often up on the shore. His father had council meetings Trott wasn’t allowed at, and he’d finished his other studies, so he left the kingdom under the sea to spend his time on the beach.

And Smith was there, too. So they’d talk.

Despite their rocky first meeting, Trott found he genuinely liked spending time with him. Smith was boisterous, and loud, teasing to the point of being acidic, but backed off when Trott told him off for things. There were reasons why river and sea fae weren’t supposed to mingle, but all those reasons were set aside.

Trott could make Smith laugh, this raucous chuckle that made his whole face light up. And for once, Trott felt as if someone cared about what he had to say. Smith actually paid attention to him and seemed to value his opinion.

Smith was so different from everything Trott knew. And Trott wanted to learn everything he could about Smith in return.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Trott asks one afternoon. He’d caught his breath after laughing at some story Smith told, and the kelpie was looking strangely at him and smiling.

“What? Am I not allowed to look?” Smith teases.

Trott shrugs. “You look at me like...” He trails off.

Smith eyes are shining in the afternoon light, the gold flecks in his irises bright amidst the green. “Like what?” He asks gently.

Trott says nothing.

Smith smiles, fondness and affection in the tone of his voice. “I like you, you know.” He says quietly. “Is that so strange to think?”

Trott blinks back. “It-...yes, actually.” He shakes head and turns, skipping a rock across the surface of the waves.

“You're interesting, and I like that.” Smith continues.

"I-Interesting?" Trott stutters in confusion. “What the fuck is so interesting about me? We’re on a fucking beach!” He gestures around at the land around them, at the waves crashing against the shore and the sky up above them.

Smith chuckles. " _Please_. You’re the most interesting thing _on_ the beach, mate!" He winks.

Trott laughs bitterly. "That must be some sort of joke." He scuffs his feet through the sand, looking for another rock to throw.

Smith’s hand comes into his vision, and Trott looks up, startled at the kelpie’s sudden closeness. He’s standing less than a foot from him, and the ocean breeze is blowing his auburn fringe into his eyes. He holds out a rock in his palm, smiling softly. "No jokes here, Trott.” He says, “Honest."

Trott shakes his head. He takes the rock from Smith’s hand, and turns away.

 

* * *

 

“ _Stop wasting space in the hallway, you piece of shit._ ”

Trott winces sharply as he’s shoved into the wall. He can feel the bruise start to form on his shoulder.

“The fuck do you _want?_ ” He snarls, trying to duck past his sister. The dark halls of the castle make her features shadowy. She shoves him against the wall again.

“Such terrible language! I should tell mother. That’s no way to treat a sister of yours, _piss face_.” She knees Trott harshly in the stomach, knocking the breath from him.

“Just tell me what you want- so I can get out of your _way._ ” Trott growls, doubled over and winded. “It’s not my problem you can’t squeeze past.” He shoves her backwards and watches her stumble on the stone floors.

She snarls and shoves him again. Trott holds in the wince when his back crashes against stone.

“ _Mother_ calls for you. She’s in the ballroom.” His sister answers, smiling sardonically. “I wouldn’t make her wait. You know how unhappy mother gets when you waste her time.”

“I wouldn’t waste her time if you would _get out of my way_.”

“You’re a waste of space, and you’re a waste of an heir. Mother should have fed you to the sharks when you were born.”

“Don’t tell me what you think I am.” He snaps, “You’re just a lump of useless garbage who’s jealous of our mother’s attention.” He regrets the remark the minute his sister’s fist glances off his cheekbone. Sparks light behind his eyes, and he weakly grasps at the wall to keep himself upright.

“ _Pathetic_.” She tuts. She knees him in the stomach again.

Trott wheezes, and slumps against the wall in a daze. He waits for the second punch.

“Worthless...” His sister scoffs, but she turns and finally leaves him be.

Trott watches her continue down the hallway. He glares into the dim light and hides his pain. Once he has his breath back, he pushes away from the wall and detours back through the castle again.

He’d been on his way up to the shore, but of course his mother wanted to nag at him before he left. He wonders what it’s about this time- his weight, his strength, being up on the beach too often? Most likely a combination of all three. Talks like these- and his siblings’ “roughhousing” was commonplace.

As his sister said, his mother is waiting for him in the ballroom. The light coming through the green and blue glass overhead makes her dress shimmer like the waves. Her hands are clasped together as she turns toward him, head held high to bear the weight of the coral crown upon her head.

Reflexively, Trott straightens his posture, and adjusts his own crown from where it was set akilter.

His mother’s eyes light upon his face. “Darling, you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, mother.” He replies without emotion.

The selkie queen crosses the room and looks him over. The calcium-silica armor on her shoulders shifts subtly with her movements. She purses her lips together in worry, and Trott looks away.

The necklace she wears catches his eye like it always did when he was young. A gold choker in the shape of two entwined sea snakes, with emeralds for eyes and turquoise spines along their backs. It was a gift from his father to his mother, from the spoils of the war when he first became king.

“ _Trottimus._ ” She orders him to look up by the tone of her voice. “What have I said before, about getting into fights with your siblings?”

“I didn’t provoke her-”

The selkie queen clears her throat, cutting his protests short. “That’s not what I asked.” She says sternly. “What have I said?”

Trott sighs through his teeth. His face throbs painfully. “You said not to provoke my siblings when they’re training...” He begins slowly, “But I didn’t provoke her, and she wasn’t training, I was only-”

“This happens _every time_ , child. I fear you’re overexerting yourself. You can’t be putting yourself in situations when your destined to _fail_.”

He’s heard this argument so many times, he has it memorized.

“You know your siblings are much stronger than you are-” _and you can’t be taking on more than you can handle, because you’re weak and have no chance of accomplishing anything._ “-and you can’t be fighting them, when you could get so badly injured.” His mother finishes.

“I’ve had worse wounds.” Trott mutters.

“ _Exactly_ my point.” She narrows her eyes at him and shakes her head. _Don’t bite off more than you can chew._ “If you get in their way, and you cannot defend yourself, you’re only going to get hurt.”

Trott sighs heavily. He’s done with this conversation, as always. “What was it that you needed, mother? My sister said you were calling for me.”

“Yes...about that.” His mother sighs, and cups his face in her hands, like she did when he was a child. It makes him feel all the more coddled.

“ _Why_ are you on the shore so much, darling?” She asks, “Your place is _here_. Nowhere else, but in the sea.”

Trott has to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“What more can I do in the sea, mother?” He replies exasperatedly, already knowing the answer.

“There is _plenty_ that your father and I can have you do here. No child of ours will waste their life away on shore.”

_You can never leave this place, ever. This is where you were born; this is where you will die._ _A selkie prince is not fit to live on land._

“As a prince, your duty lies to your family and to your clan.” She continues. “The crown prince cannot be foolish and trade the glory of our name for the ruins of mortal society.”

“But what if there’s more to the world than that?” Trott counters. “You know my siblings, they will rule long before I will. What’s the point in staying?”

His mother strokes his bruised cheek, and Trott has to keep himself from wincing.

“My son, the world is a cruel place, and the human race is only a conduit for that cruelty. You _cannot_ leave the sea, for I fear for your safety.”

_Safety. Woman, you talk of safety, here? You make me sick._

Trott bites his tongue.

The selkie queen draws her hands away, pursing her lips together in a thin line. “Darling, should you go to land it could only mean you would be ensnared. You would never be able to return, then. I cannot lose you. This clan is yours to lead, someday- you cannot squander that opportunity.”

_Surely, surely life up there must be better than this._

Trott starts again. “Mother, if I were to leave I might-”

“No. No, I will not let you.” She shakes her head. “You are not strong enough.”

“I can fight just as well as my siblings, if they don’t overwhelm me! I have better sense than them not to pick fights I can’t win, but you never believe me when I tell you.” Trott protests. “I am smarter; I am faster. I can survive up there, I know it-”

“Absolutely _not!_ ” His mother snaps, fury in her words. “How _dare_ you test my judgement!”

“Mother-”

“ _No._ ” His mother’s eyes are locked in ice, cold and darkly concerned. “You will remain here. You will not go- I will not have it!”

Trott opens his mouth, but his mother cuts him off before he can say another word.

“Do _not_ disobey me, Trottimus. That is my _final_ answer- you will not get another.” She steps away from him, and shakes her head.

“Mother...”

The selkie queen turns and brusquely walks away, leaving Trott standing in the middle of the ballroom, alone.

 

* * *

 

“What do you do down there? In the sea?”

“Read, mostly. The only thing I can ever do right, is learn as much as I can.” Trott gives a firm kick to the sand and sends the grains flying into the air.

“What do you read about?” Smith asks where he lies on the ground, leaning up on his elbows and letting the waves tickle his feet.

“Anything, and everything.” Trott scuffs his feet over to Smith and stops, looking down at him. “I...I like science, though.”

“Science?” Smith tilts his head to the side.

“Yeah. Medical texts and biology. Cells and other things.” Trott shrugs. “It’s interesting.”

“Huh.” Smith sits up and dusts off his hands. “I don’t know anything about that, but it sounds cool, I guess.”

Trott sighs. “I wish I could study more of it. Of anything. Business, history, languages. I’d love to get my hands on more books, but we only have so many. I’ve probably read them all several times over. And I’m certain they’re out of date.” He knew a lot of information, but he didn’t know if any of it was factual for modern use.

“We should go into the city one day, then. I’m sure they have newer books about that at the library.”

The selkie prince looks up in surprise. “They have other libraries out there?”

Smith smiles. “Yeah, mate. Multiple. You’ve never been to the city before?”

“No.” He shakes his head and scowls. “That’s one of the many rules about the land my family has. We’re not allowed to go into the city.”

“Well, some rules are meant to be broken, right?” The kelpie’s grin is sharp and his eyes are bright.

Trott smiles sadly. There’s a tightness in his chest he can’t explain as he turns from Smith to look back to the sea. He says nothing.

 

* * *

 

Trott leans against Smith’s side with the kelpie’s arm warm across his shoulders. The sun is rising up over the sea. He’s been gone too long, but he doesn’t want to move.

They talked all night, in spurts. Smith had told him stories about the city and Trott had told him stories of the sea. The better stories. Ones that weren’t about him or about his life, but of others before him. Folk tales, really.

“I should get back.” He murmurs again.

Smith chuckles. “You’ve said that a few times, mate, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere.” His breath ghosts over Trott’s ear. His stubble scratches lightly when he nuzzles the side of Trott’s neck. “I’m such a charmer, you don’t want to leave.”

Trott chuckles. “Think what you want, Smith. Maybe I just couldn’t be bothered to move.” He replies with a sleepy smile. “I get awfully tired swimming about all day, after all...” He turns to look at Smith, into those green eyes brimming with mischief and warmth.

Smith’s hand moves, hesitant, and cups his cheek. Trott smirks and tilts his chin up, leaning forward towards him, and Smith leans down to kiss him.

Smith’s lips are gentle against his. Trott feels so warm, so alive, so safe. Smith’s arm is warm over the back of his shoulders, and Trott leans in closer, wanting to feel more of Smith’s skin against his.

They kiss with the sea lapping at their toes. Trott slowly caresses Smith’s hip. His fingers curl into a belt loop, and Smith kisses him deeper.

Trott’s fingers brush under the hem of Smith’s shirt. He wants more. Of this feeling; of Smith. But the selkie can see the sun rising behind his eyelids, and he knows he has to go back.

Trott pulls away with his heart full of reluctance and want.

“Run away with me.” Smith whispers, stroking his thumb across Trott’s cheek. He moves in again to kiss him, but is only allowed a brush of lips.

“I can’t.” Trott heaves a regretful sigh and shakes his head. He shrugs out of Smith’s arm and stands, moving slowly towards the edge of the sea.

Smith scrambles to his feet.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” He asks, taking Trott’s hand as he steps into the waves.

Trott turns and pulls Smith closer for another kiss. He doesn’t want to let go of him, but if he doesn’t go back, his clan might come looking. And Trott can’t let that happen. He doesn’t want to know what would become of Smith, if they found them. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever this is, that he feels between them both.

When the kiss breaks, Trott smiles painfully and gives Smith’s shoulder a little push. “I’ll be around. You better be here when I come back.” He teases.

Smith grins. The sunlight, coming up over the horizon, glints off a silver chain hardly visible under the collar of his shirt. “‘Course I will. Can’t have you go a day without seeing me, can I? I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” He winks.

Trott scoffs and steps further into the water. “Maybe I only want you for your body.” He snarks.

Smith smiles. “Who says I’m complaining? You’re hot as fuck, too, mate.”

Trott laughs. He doubts the words as he slips his fingers from Smith’s grip. “I’ll see you later, Smith.” He says softly, moving farther from the beach. The water laps up to his waist.

“Be safe, okay?” Smith adds, in an afterthought. He immediately sees the pain his words bring, and winces.

The light from Trott’s eyes disappears and he swallows thickly. “I can’t promise that.” He says morosely.

Smith watches from the shore. Trott sinks further into the sea, and then vanishes in a crash of waves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Full fathom five thy father lies;  
> Of his bones are coral made;  
> Those are pearls that were his eyes:  
> Nothing of him that doth fade,  
> But doth suffer a sea-change  
> Into something rich and strange.  
> Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong  
> Hark! now I hear them,—Ding-dong, bell.”  
> The Tempest
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/122559306687  
> Trott's ocean
> 
> http://malformalady.tumblr.com/post/130155257163/cross-section-of-agate-resembles-looking-out-into  
> Trott
> 
> http://justlikeadropintheocean.tumblr.com/post/113882199892/when-sadness-was-the-sea-you-taught-me-to-swim  
> especially the caption: "When sadness was the sea, you taught me to swim."
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/120985033032  
> moonlit night
> 
> http://breathtakingdestinations.tumblr.com/post/125591739448/faroe-islands-denmark-by-ehrenberg  
> Trott and Smith, late night on the shore


	3. this thing of darkness I acknowledge mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chp 3 cws: abuse, fighting, bruises, insecurity/body image.  
> also, there’s a sex scene, if the explicit rating didn’t give that away.  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know. 
> 
> [ Where The River Meets The Sea playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/22WwWCgvRnNhHnHrsg6NVk)
> 
>   [ tracklist ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/where-the-river-meets-the-sea-playlist/)
> 
>   [ reblog? ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/here-lies-the-water-here-stands-the-man-ghostofgatsby/)
> 
>  
> 
> “This thing of darkness I  
> Acknowledge mine.”  
> The Tempest
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/129628508506/wavemotions-underwater-cave  
> going into the grotto
> 
> http://yogcities.tumblr.com/post/113362041768/nubbsgalore-the-waitomo-limestone-caves-on-new  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/139393691563/emmersdrawberry-fallere-joseph-michael  
> grotto

The muscles in Trott’s chest and shoulders protest as he swims up to the shore. He pushes through stroke after stroke, every movement aching. The words of his siblings repeat in his head.

_“You know the rules, dear brother.”_

_“Yeah, Trottimus. You know.”_

Trott’s gut pangs sharply where the fists have landed. His ribs have taken the worst of the beating, and he’ll be black and blue tomorrow. The saltwater makes the scrapes on his knuckles sting. He tried fighting back, like he always does, but it wasn’t good enough. It never is- there’s simply too many of them. They’ve always been stronger.

_“Can’t be up on shore all day, you fucking piece of-”_

_“Gonna turn into a housewife to the mortal scum-”_

_“Spend a lifetime of servitude on your knees! That’s all you’ll be fucking good for!”_

Trott reaches the shoreline and stumbles out of the sea, slowly rotating his right arm in it’s socket. His elbow is tender where he’d jabbed one of his brothers in the face. Broken his nose, by the sound of the crunch it made.

_“Shut the fuck up.”_ He’d growled at them. _“I can do what I damn please and it’s none of your fucking business.”_

But they never listen. Why would they? Instead, they throw him to the ground and send kick after kick to his ribs.

Trott limps up through the water, cursing under his breath. Pain strikes through his side. The memories of their battery flicker behind his eyes.

_“Maybe you should fucking listen to dad, huh? Instead of pretending you think you’re better than us.”_

_“You act like a pretentious, shrimpy_ pissworm _, thinking you’re some kind of know-it-all. Own up and fight, shithead- you’re not worthy of the crown you wear!”_

_“Stop being a pathetic little-”_

Trott slashes his hand through the water, angry at himself and at them. He heads up the beach and towards the rocks where he normally meets Smith, adjusting his selkie skin around his waist.

_“What a disgrace. Nothing but a fucking weakling-”_

_“Nothing but pond-fucking-scum, thorn in a thumb-”_

_“Worthless-”_

_“-piece of shit.”_

“Trott?” Smith peeks up over the edge of the outcropping. He looks down at Trott and watches him limp across the sand.

“Shit, are you alright?” The kelpie questions. He reaches down to help Trott up.

“Fuck ‘em.” Trott stammers. “Fuck all of them.” He shakes the water from his hair and reaffixes the crown of shells on his head.

Smith holds onto Trott’s hand and guides him away from the edge of the rocks.

“The fuck happened to you...” He grinds between his teeth. He lets go of Trott’s hand to cup his cheek, green eyes tracing the bruises blooming across Trott’s ribs and shoulder blades.

Trott grimaces and lets out a wince. “Fuck ‘em all, Smith.” He shakes his head and looks away. “Fuck them...and fuck the sea.”

Smith has many questions but the anger brimming inside him keeps his teeth gritted. He brushes the hair away from Trott’s eyes.

“I fucking hate it there.” Trott sighs, looking up again. He feels weary from it all.

Smith kisses him. He puts all the words he doesn’t have into the kiss. “Fuck ‘em, Trott.” He agrees. “Fuck what they think.”

They stand up on the rocks for a long time, kissing as the wind wraps around them. Trott carefully leans into Smith’s loose embrace, trying not to acerbate his bruises. Smith’s hands are warm on his hips.

_You mean more to me than the kingdom beneath._ Trott thinks, threading a hand through Smith’s hair. The kelpie tastes of the river, and in his arms Trott has never been warmer.

He’s sick of the cold. He’s fed up with the things his clan has said, of being lied to, and feeling insignificant.

Trott kisses Smith harder, pressed chest to chest and breath heaving. The wind blows their hair into their eyes.

Smith holds him closely, but never too tight. He’s never hurt Trott like his clan has. He’s shown him more care in the span of a few months than anyone else has shown in his life.

Trott wants Smith more than he wants to be what he is. He wants to be Smith’s more than he wants to be king.

Smith pulls back the slightest bit. His lips skim across Trott’s cheek. He kisses his jaw and the side of his neck, and his eyelashes flutter against skin as he catches his breath.

Trott loosens his grip in Smith’s hair, and slides his hand down the back of the kelpie’s neck. Their hair is wind-tossed and messy, their skin is flushed, and their lips are kiss-bitten.

Smith nuzzles Trott’s cheek. His stubble is rough and scratchy on his skin, but it’s nothing like the sand on their feet.

The kelpie presses a kiss under Trott’s ear. “Trott...” He whispers over the sound of the waves.

Trott kisses him again, sweetly, crushing the anguish inside him that dares to break free.

Smith makes a soft, wordless moan against his mouth.

What a price Trott would pay, if his clan knew what he was doing. Sea fae don’t think too highly of those from the river. They don’t think much of them, if at all.

Trott’s skirting a line he shouldn’t cross. His clan barely tolerates his time on shore as it is, and if they knew...

_If._

_If is a big variable._ Trott thinks. _So fuck them. Fuck them all, and fuck the sea, and fuck what they believe._

_Fuck what they’ve told me._

_Fuck what they think I’m meant to be._

He pulls away. Breaking the kiss, he steps free from Smith’s embrace and takes the kelpie’s hands in his.

“Come with me, Smith.” Trott pleads, meeting those green eyes with an edge of desperation in his own.

Smith licks his lips. “Where?” He asks.

“Someplace you’d like to see.” Trott murmurs. “I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

Smith stares at him in curiosity.

“Come with me.” Trott pleads again. _If you trust me._ He thinks. _I don’t know if I trust myself, but-_

Smith kisses him again, hard, and his hands frame Trott’s hips.

“Alright, but where?” He asks breathlessly, rubbing warmth into Trott’s skin.

Trott nods towards the sea. The waves are picking up with the wind, and the ocean spray is wet on his cheeks. “Out there.” He answers. “Can you swim in the ocean?”

Smith takes a deep breath and nods. “I can, but I can’t be under for a long time. Makes my head fuzzy.”

Trott nods back. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” He pulls away from Smith and steps towards the edge of the rocky outcropping. He tracks the patterns in the waves, calculating, and thinking tactically about the direction he wants to lead.

“Where are we going, Trott?” Smith asks.

Trott looks over his shoulder as Smith discards his shirt. The silver of his bridle shines against his chest. The color of the thin, looped chain contrasts against the light tan of Smith’s skin and the dust of auburn hair trekking downwards.

Trott gives Smith a dazzling grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see, sunshine.” He answers. “Wanna race?”

“Race?” Smith scoffs. “You think you can best me?”

Trott chuckles. “You think I can’t?”

Smith shakes his head and smiles. “Bring it on, twat. The sea’s got nothing on me.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that.” Trott hums skeptically, his blue eyes shining in amusement.

“Just try and catch me.” Smith dares.

Trott beams back. He turns and dives into the waves.

Smith leaps after him with a grin of his own.

 

* * *

 

Trott is _fast_ , Smith’ll give him that. Maybe it’s the fact that Smith’s in the ocean instead of the river, but he can barely keep up. At least in his human form. He follows the selkie out to sea, and down, down, down deep. The pressure throbs in his ears and he winces but continues on. The salt in the water stings his throat and lungs. Every gulp is too cold, but he can breathe in it.

Several minutes pass until Trott slows and beckons Smith over to a formation of large rocks. His grin professes his victory in their mock race, and Smith grins back and flips him off.

Trott takes his hand and leads him between the rocks, through a crevice, and into the darkness of a cavern.

It’s so dark that Smith has trouble seeing, but there’s some sort of blue light up ahead.

As they go closer and closer, the water lowers enough for their heads, and then their shoulders and chests to rise above the surface. The blue light gets brighter and illuminates the sides of the cavern.

The farther they traverse, the brighter it gets. Smith can see where Trott is leading, now, and when they round a corner, he gasps softly.

The cavern hall opens up into a grotto, and the walls and ceiling are splattered with little blue lights. The specks of neon blue look like stars scattered across the rocks.

Trott pulls him along, up to a flat platform sort of thing in the middle, and sits down. He smiles at the surprised look on Smith’s face.

“ _Wow_.” Smith’s voice is full of wonder. “This is amazing.”

“The blue lights are caused by bioluminescent gnats.”

“Wait, what? Those things are _bugs?_ ”

Trott laughs at Smith’s wide-eyed expression. “No, it’s from their larvae. It’s just a sticky, glowing substance they use to catch prey. Harmless, to us.”

The kelpie huffs and blinks owlishly around him. “Nature is weird.” He looks back to Trott, who smiles. The blue lights reflect in his eyes, shimmery in the dark.

It’s quiet down here. All they can hear is the ocean’s muted rumble, and the occasional drip of water from the ceiling.

Smith rubs his arms and shudders. “This water’s fucking freezing.” He pulls his feet up out of the water and shifts closer to Trott.

The sound of Trott’s laughter echoes in the grotto. “Just your problem, mate. I’m used to this.”

Smith shakes his head. “Why’d you want to come down here, anyway?” He asks.

“To show you this.” Trott gestures around him. He leans closer to Smith and brushes his lips across the kelpie’s jaw. “Besides...I can think of a few ways we can warm up.” He murmurs.

“Dirty fucker.” Smith tuts back. He captures Trott’s lips with his own, smiling into the kiss. The surface of the platform beneath his hands is smooth and polished down, but the stone is as cold as the water. He moves closer to Trott, who kisses him back.

Trott places his hands on Smith’s chest, fingers glancing the chain of his bridle.

Smith shivers and pulls back. “Are you sure about this?” He asks. His hand hovers hesitatingly over Trott’s hip.

Trott smiles softly. He cups Smith’s cheek and rubs his thumb against the rough stubble.

“I want this,” He whispers. “I want you.”

Smith watches the blue lights glimmer in Trott’s eyes. “You’re something else, you know that?” He says. In the light of the grotto, Trott is ethereal. Pale and lithe and tempting.

“Is this okay?” He asks again. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Smith’s hand strokes Trott’s hip and his eyes fall upon the worst of the bruises on Trott’s ribs.

“More than okay.” Trott replies. He pulls Smith closer to him and envelops his mouth in another kiss.

Their hands roam and caress, gentle and sure in their movements. Warmth spreads between them. Skin pressed against skin. Sharing body heat, and banishing the cold from their bones.

_Is this what it’s like, to feel happy?_ Trott thinks, awe-struck. _To truly feel...wanted._

There’s this hopeful, breathless feeling inside himself that he can’t explain. He’s trying not to feel frantic. Part of him is terrified that he’ll blink and it’ll be over, while another part of him wants to draw it out and sink into it. Everything about this feels right.

Smith’s hands stroke his skin. He’s careful of the bruises, which Trott is grateful for, because his chest and ribs are still sore from all he’s been through. Smith is so cautious. The kelpie’s acting like he’s shy, for all the talk he spouts on shore, and Trott chuckles at that.

He moves closer and slides into Smith’s lap.

Smith moans into Trott’s neck, and resumes his kissing along Trott’s jawline and throat.

Trott undoes his skin tied around his waist and unfurls it behind Smith. He tilts his head to the side to offer the kelpie more working space, as Smith nips and sucks the water from his skin.

He feels giddy. He sighs breathily and starts to undo Smith’s wet pants.

Smith’s hands move from their position on Trott’s hips so Trott can get his pants down. Once they’re past his knees, Smith grabs at his pocket.

“I don’t know if you- if-” He stutters, nudging a small tube towards Trott’s hand. “I don’t know if you want me to, or...”

Trott chuckles as he peels Smith’s pants from his legs. He throws the wet garments aside and picks up the lube. “I’ll do it.” He murmurs, meeting Smith’s eyes and grinning. “I want you to watch.”

“ _Fuck_.” Smith groans succinctly.

Trott laughs. He pops the cap open and coats his fingers liberally. He discards the tube to the side but within reach, and straddles Smith’s lap again.

Smith wraps one arm around Trott’s waist and skims his other hand down his stomach. At Trott’s small nod, Smith curls his fingers around his cock.

Trott hums as Smith’s hand moves languidly up and down his length.

Smith licks his lips. He watches Trott move his hand behind himself, and watches water droplets slowly roll down his chest. They’re both dripping wet, and naked, and Smith can’t help but take it all in.

“Fuck, Trott...” He murmurs with a grin.

Trott smiles slowly, rocking in Smith’s loose grip as his fingers push inside himself. He leans his head down to kiss Smith again.

The way the kelpie looks at him makes Trott doubt himself. He isn’t sure if the way Smith smiles at him is the truth, but he thinks it might be. It’s too real, to be otherwise. It’s too genuine to be a lie.

Trott breaks the kiss, letting out a small huff of breath as he adds another finger. Smith’s hand is warm and slick around him, and it makes the ache in his knees worth the trouble.

Mindful of the bruises, Smith kisses water droplets from Trott’s chest. He maps Trott’s upper torso with his lips, kissing over various scars from fights and the smattering of freckles over his shoulder blades.

“Fuck...” Smith sighs. He smiles up at Trott, and the selkie leans down to kiss him again. Smith’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling of Trott’s lips moving in tandem with his. It feels so good, to have Trott pressed so closely. There’s something between them he can’t put a finger on, but fuck if he isn’t going to enjoy it. Trott was something else, something beautiful and brilliant, though so unsure of himself. And regardless of what Smith was, he wanted him.

_“I want this.”_ Trott had said. _“I want you.”_

Smith moans quietly into the kiss. _I want you, too._ He thinks. _I want this, with you._

Trott’s hands suddenly thread into his wet hair, and Smith moans again. Trott’s fingers on his neck and scalp make him shiver.

“Lie back.” Trott whispers, breaking the kiss.

Smith reclines backwards onto Trott’s selkie skin. The velvety, leather-like fabric is soft and impossibly, comfortably warm. Smith stares up at Trott in the ethereal blue light of the grotto, and at the look in his eyes. The depths of the ocean are in his irises, and in that moment Smith realizes all of this is something treasured. He’s given a glimpse, for a brief second, of Trott, open and baring all. Willingly vulnerable, and completely his.

Trott looks back at Smith beneath him. The kelpie’s eyes shine teal from the blue light around them as he looks up at Trott in awe. Smith looks good like this- maybe they both do- wet, and flushed, and glistening. Trott's starting to believe that, a bit, with the way Smith looks at him. Just maybe.

Trott brushes Smith’s wet hair away from his eyes. His gaze stays locked with Smith’s as he shifts his position and slowly lowers himself down.

“ _Fuck..._ ” Smith groans.

Trott tips his head back, exposing the pale line of his throat and staring at the lights in the ceiling of the grotto, as he pants and gets used to the feeling. His hands press into Smith’s arms, nails digging in slightly.

“Fuck, Trott...” Smith moves his free hand to grip Trott’s hip.

Trott starts to move, slowly rocking forward. He lets out a low moan at the pleasure sparking down his spine. “Smith...” He sighs. “Fuck... _Smith_.” He bends down and kisses Smith passionately.

“Mmmf.” Smith hums in between kisses. “Trott.” He moans back.

Trott groans weakly at the sound of his own name from Smith’s lips. He places his arms on either side of Smith for leverage.

Smith’s hands move around Trott again. One hand splays across his lower back and the other wraps around his cock. As Trott picks up his pace, Smith moves with him, thrusting upwards and moving his hand.

It’s fantastically, amazingly good, as they rock together.

Trott’s toes curl against the surface of the platform when he knows he’s close. His thighs burn with the effort, and his ribs hurt like hell, but he’s not giving up until he reaches the end of this.

“ _Smith..._ ” He gasps quietly. He leans his forehead against Smith’s and grips onto his selkie skin beneath his hands.

Smith keens back. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches Trott move above him. His chest heaves and his back arches against the stone. “ _Fuck_ -” He chokes.

Trott lets out a strangled moan in response. He rocks his hips harder. The sound of their fucking, moaning, and panting is so cacophonous in the grotto, Trott nearly laughs. “ _Fuck, Smith..._ ” He sighs, feeling his crown shift in his hair.

“ _Trott.”_ Smith gasps, and that, with the ministrations of Smith’s hand, is what tips Trott over. His eyes flutter shut, lips parting in a silent breath. He rocks through it and feels Smith come as well as his climax rushes through him.

Trott slows to a stop and catches his breath. He pulls off, and collapses atop Smith with a weak grunt. His limbs are too boneless to move. The endorphins in his blood make his bruises a little less sore.

It smells like brine and dirt around them. Earth and sea.

Smith’s hands curl around his waist. Trott shifts to his side so he’s not crushing Smith beneath him, and Smith leans in to kiss him gently. His breath is hot against Trott’s cheek. His stubble is rough, but feels nice against Trott’s flushed skin.

The rush makes him feel loose-limbed and pliant, beyond sated, and pleasantly dizzy. He’s never felt more content.

Leaning his forehead against Smith’s, Trott basks in the warmth of their skin pressed together, listening to the sound of their breaths and the water splashing against the entrance to the grotto.


	4. hell is empty and all the devils are here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chp 4 cws: abuse, fighting, knives, blood, wounds/injuries.  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> Whereas chapters 1, 2, and 3 took place over several weeks and with several weeks in between, chapter 4 follows very quickly after chapter 3, and chapter 5 follows very quickly after chapter 4.
> 
> [ Where The River Meets The Sea playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/22WwWCgvRnNhHnHrsg6NVk)
> 
>   [ tracklist ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/where-the-river-meets-the-sea-playlist/)
> 
>   [ reblog? ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/here-lies-the-water-here-stands-the-man-ghostofgatsby/)
> 
>  
> 
> “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”  
> The Tempest
> 
> throne room: http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/112197975559

The throne room is in the deepest, coldest part of the palace. The walls are made of smooth, white-washed ice crystals, and Trott’s siblings and the palace guard are in a que parallel to them. Not long after he’d returned Smith to the shore, he headed back under the sea. He climbed the steps to his lonesome tower under guise of nightfall, but the guards had come for him the minute he’d laid down to rest.

Trott is shoved forward until he stands a few feet from his father’s seat. The selkie king is tall and broad-shouldered, draped in fish pelts and sharks’ teeth, and bears a sword of carved whalebone on his back. There is a crown made of sea urchin spines and pufferfish fins atop his head. His steely gaze bores into Trott like ice water through his veins. Trott’s mother, sitting next to his father in her own throne, looks terrified.

“ _Trottimus._ ” His father’s deep baritone voice carries across the room, sending a chill down Trott’s spine. “You were _seen_. _Desecrating_ the  _sanctity_ of our grotto with that _river scum_.” Spittle flies from the selkie king’s mouth as he spits the words like they’re poisonous.

All the blood drains from Trott’s face, but he stands his ground. His father continues to yell.

“ _Outsiders_ , especially those of _river_ and _land_ , are not to be trusted! And to bring one of _them_ into a place of safety for our own? You’re lucky I didn’t have the two of you hunted down and killed _on sight!_ ” The selkie king’s rage echoes like thunder in the throne room. Other than the sound of his voice, the room is deathly silent.

“You have disgraced this clan, your family, and yourself by this...disgusting act.” He spits in distaste.

The selkie prince keeps his eyes locked on his father’s brutal gaze.

_I will not regret the one thing I’ve done for myself._

“Your continued disobedience, spending idle time upon shore, and failing your duties as prince and heir will be tolerated no longer.”

“What is my punishment, then, father?” Trott asks quietly. “How must I pay for insulting the pride of our clan?”

His father lets out a humorless laugh. “ _Our_ clan? This is not _yours_ anymore, boy. You have gone too far. You do not _belong_ here. You will _never_ set foot into the sea again.”

All the warmth leeches from Trott’s bones as he hears the words he dreads, spoken loud and clear.

“The charge is treason; the punishment, eternal exile.”

His mother is crying. She won’t look him in the eye.

“You no longer hold this place as home. You are no longer a prince, and you are no longer our son.” His father sneers.

The only sound in the throne room is his mother’s sobs and the steady drip of water on the icy floor.

“Remove your crown, boy.” The selkie king commands.

“Fine.” Trott lifts the crown of shells from his head and sends it clattering at his feet. Determination prevents his voice from wavering. “This place is nothing but a cesspool. I wouldn’t want to live here even if I ever had a place.”

His father’s eyes are full of malice. “You will never return. We will make sure of it.”

Firm hands grab Trott from behind. He thrashes, lashing out, throwing punches and drawing his knife from his side. He stabs and slashes indiscriminately.

It doesn’t matter who gets hurt- his own sibling’s knives are at him just the same. They delighted in his exile; they had tormented him since birth. There was no use in holding back vengeance anymore.

Trott is dragged from the throne room with blows raining down upon him. He kicks with all his might to break free from their grasp, but his siblings are too strong and there are too many against him. The knives slice at his arms and legs. His own blood smears the floor, and he’s taken up and out of the palace swiftly.

The light of the moon strains to reach the bottom of the ocean. Trott is pulled upwards, past the castle’s entrance and out into the open sea.

His siblings’ forms are dark and murderous. Amidst the fray, Trott feels the press of a knife to his back. The magic scorches through it- he knows and fears what that means before it happens.

Before he can turn to parry, the knife plunges under his shoulder. The blade carves deep, and he screams in pain. His selkie skin tears from his back. Trott clutches the tattered cloth to himself as he’s forced into human form.

_You will never return._

_We will make sure of it._

His father’s echoing voice is the only sound that blocks out his siblings’ taunts. Trott worms himself out of their grasp, scratching and squabbling in agony. Their knives continue to slash at him, but his siblings swim away, leaving Trott in a dusky cloud of red.

Disoriented, he struggles towards the surface, crawling more than swimming upwards. Every pull of his shoulder makes white light flash across his vision. His head spins. Blurry images of red and black, pale white and tattered brown, flicker in his sight.

Trott gasps when he breaks the waves. He can barely keep his head above water. His lungs burn, and the wound in his back is the worse hurt he’s ever felt. All he hears is the sea, and all he feels is pain. The night sky above him is as black as ink, but he isn’t sure if it’s the sky or his closed eyelids that he’s seeing. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open.

The tide pushes Trott ashore. He lets it, because even the sea has cast him out. He has no place anymore. He never truly did.

As Trott collapses atop the beach, he can’t contain his broken wail. It rips from his lungs like his skin was ripped from his back. He slumps into the sand, with salt and grit making his wounds burn like hellfire. The pain is constant, deep, and overwhelming. He can feel blood running down his spine.

The world turns black around him, and he loses consciousness.


	5. what's past is prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chp 5 cws: wounds/injuries, blood, insecurity/body image.  
> mentions of drowning, death, and fae manipulation.  
> If I need to tag something else, let me know. 
> 
> [ Where The River Meets The Sea playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/user/ghostofgatsby/playlist/22WwWCgvRnNhHnHrsg6NVk)
> 
>   [ tracklist ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/where-the-river-meets-the-sea-playlist/)
> 
> specific songs:  
> Promises of No Man’s Land- Blaudzun  
> Escape- KONGOS  
> Flaws- Bastille  
> The Unforgiven by Metallica, from the damned guilty deeds playlist, connects to this fic too.
> 
>   [ reblog? ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/07/here-lies-the-water-here-stands-the-man-ghostofgatsby/)
> 
> “What's past is prologue.”  
> The Tempest

Smith shivers as the ocean breeze hits him. He parts the sanctuary of the trees and steps out onto the beach.

The sun is coming up over the horizon, staining the sky an orange-red, and forecasting a storm later tonight. Smith starts walking towards the rocky outcropping, where Trott usually met him just after sunrise, but something farther down the beach catches his attention.

Something’s laying on the shoreline.

A body.

With brown hair and something draped over their lap.

Smith’s heart drops into his stomach. “Trott.” He dashes towards him, kicking up sand with his heels, and plants his knees beside him in the sand. “ _Trott._..”

The selkie is shadowed in bruises. There are cuts all along his body, and he’s covered in blood. He’s laying on his side, one cheek in the sand and arms outstretched in front of him.

Smith hovers his hands over Trott’s arms, and settles for resting his hand as gently as possible on top of Trott’s.

“Trott...” Smith grits his teeth, holding back the anger. “Trott, wake up, dammit! _Trott!_ ”

After a few more moments of Smith calling his name, Trott stirs. His blue eyes blink without any focus.

“Trott...can you hear me?” Smith frowns down at him in concern.

“Smith...?” Trott’s voice is raspy and weak. He lifts his head up an inch and draws in a breath, but coughs. Blood spatters on his lips, and he slumps back into the sand, passing out again.

“ _Fuck_. Trott...” Smith wipes the blood from Trott’s lips with a shaky hand. “Come on. I’m getting you out of here. I’m no healer, but...”

The kelpie shakes his head, ending the morbid train of thought.

Smith lifts Trott into his arms slowly and cautiously, mindful of the wounds. The bright orange crown of shells he normally saw Trott wearing is starkly absent from his head.

When he looks down at Trott, he sees the wound in his shoulder, raw and deep. Smith’s stomach lurches. There’s a bloodstain left behind in the sand.

He looks up at the sea with eyes full of malice. “Fuck them.” He says through his teeth. “They can rot in their underwater hell.” Smith looks back down when Trott lets out a weak moan. He cradles the selkie’s unconscious form more carefully against his chest. “Come on, Trott. I’ve got you.” He murmurs softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Smith plods off down the beach, and back towards the forest. Away from the sea, and towards the river again.

 

* * *

 

When Trott comes to, he chokes down a whimper. Pain is the first thing he recognizes.

“Easy, there...I’ve got you...”

Smith. His voice sounds distant even though Trott can tell he’s close.

Trott cracks open one eye and then the other.

His vision is warped like the inside of a glass bottle- clear foreground and hazy at the edges. Trott knows that’s from the pain and the blood loss. He’s leaning his good shoulder against a tree, and Smith is shirtless, kneeling before him. The silver chain of his bridle glimmers on his chest.

Trott sucks in a wince as something soft drags over the cuts on his arms.

“Easy...I know it stings, but I don’t have anything to give you for it right now. I’m just trying to get the sand off first.” Smith’s fingers are gentle at his elbow.

Trott’s eyes flutter shut again. Dealing with pain is nothing new to him, but this isn’t like anything he’s ever felt before...

“Stay awake for me, Trott.” The kelpie chides softly.

Trott blinks his eyes open, conflicted.

Every aching cell in his body wants him to give up, to give in to an undertow of darkness he’ll never break from.

“Smith...” He croaks. It’s hard to talk. His throat feels like shards of glass. The longer he stays awake, the better his vision and hearing becomes.

Smith watches him for a few moments with a gaze full of fire and fury. He sinks the cloth in his hands into a pot of water steaming beside him.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I found you unconscious on the beach and brought you back here.” He nods towards the river to the left of Trott and wrings the cloth out. There’s a small fire kindling a few feet from Smith on the other side of him.

“I remember what happened. Not you bringing me here.” Trott answers quietly, voice rough and raw.

Smith shuffles closer, carefully guiding Trott’s wrist to turn in his grip. “Hold still. I got all the sand off while you were unconscious, except for this arm. It won’t take long.” He clarifies.

Smith’s eyes search his for discomfort. He’s careful to mind the thin cut on Trott’s forearm as he cleans the remainder of the sand from his skin. Trott stares back, and forces himself not to look away. He’s sacrificed too much to let himself sleep. He’s tired, has been tired for a long, long time, but he won’t let himself fall away from this.

Trott counts the specks of gold in Smith’s eyes between every labored blink. The kelpie doesn’t look at him in pity, just with implicit concern, like he had on the last night they’d spent on shore together.

The hurt is worse now. The pain is ever-present, and to the skies, it hurt. There is a hollow ache deep inside him, and the pain doesn't make it go away. The pain doesn't let him forget.

Trott swallows thickly, pushing down his emotions. He couldn't make himself cry even if he tried, if he even considered it an option to do so. As much as it hurts, the tears won't come.

There's no outlet for this; no escaping the choice he made.

It’s his price to pay, for what he’s done.

When Smith’s finished, he leans back on his heels, and lets go of Trott’s hand. He drops the cloth into the pot of water and stands up. “There we go. Alright-” Smith dusts his hands off and gestures to the woods past Trott’s head. “I’m going to scrounge around for a bit. There have to be some herbs and roots around here that will help with the pain.”

“It’s fine.” Trott lies, holding back an anguished groan.

“Bullshit.” Smith leans down and kisses Trott’s forehead. “Stay awake. I won’t be long at all, I promise.” He steps around the bark of the tree, and Trott hears his footsteps get quieter as he walks away.

Trott tries to focus on his surroundings. The fire crackles ahead of him, and the river on his left burbles over the rocks. The river is crystal clear, shimmering in the light, and the foliage around it is rich and green. The leaves are thick on the trees overhead, protecting Trott from the sun’s setting rays.

There’s some sort of...algae of a kind growing on the tree bark. Lichens? Smith had once said something about moss.

The color matched Smith’s eyes better than the granite under the sea.

Trott can hear Smith walking around in the brush behind him. The kelpie’s singing something under his breath, but he’s too far away for Trott to make out what the words are.

Birds and other small creatures rustle the tree branches and call out to each other. The woods is so noisy. He’s never been this far inland to experience it like this...

A gust of wind comes down the river, and something above him clangs metallically. Trott looks up.

“Why are there...frying pans tied to this tree?” He asks aloud, weakly calling for Smith.

“It’s an elder tree, home to an old nature guardian.” Smith’s voice calls back over the crunch of leaves and bushes. From the sound of his voice, he isn’t far at all. “She lets me store some things in her branches, since I haven’t an actual home, and had been coming to the sea more often to see you.”

Trott can feel the wisened magic in the roots beneath him. The leaves above rustle as if speaking some old druidic language. Trott doesn’t understand, but the bark against his shoulder isn’t scratchy or rough, and he thinks the tree spirit is offering the help it can give.

He gives it his thanks with a tired sigh.

“Why the frying pans?” He asks Smith.

“Most of them are rusty and unusable. The wind picks up and knocks them around, and carries the sound down the river. It’s a good navigation tool.”

Trott hums. It’s a loud sound when the wind comes through. Garrish, really, but it would probably keep animals away from the campsite.

Now that Trott is fully awake, the pain is at the forefront of everything. His ears have been ringing since he first woke up. The wound under his shoulder blade makes the rest of the cuts and bruises flare with pain. It’s nigh impossible to distract himself from it, but then again, lying in agony is something he’s used to.

After a few more moments, Smith returns. A handful of leaves and roots are clutched in his palm. He scrambles half up the tree Trott is leaning against to tug down a rugged knapsack. It’s patched with various fabrics, and has a thick woolen blanket tied to it. Smith empties the contents out over the ground: bowls and plates, dress shoes, a few changes of clothes, and an assortment of items Trott can’t identify at this angle.

“I found some things that will help, but there’s not much else I can do for tonight. Especially with the storm coming.” The kelpie dusts off a bowl and sets the leaves and roots inside. “I’ll get something better from the city tomorrow, as soon as I can head out.”

“There’s a storm?” Trott asks warily.

“Yeah. The sky was blood red this morning.” Smith takes the pot of water and dumps it out. He slings the stained wet cloth over his shoulder and walks a short distance to the river.

“...Why does that mean a storm’s coming?”

“The color of the sky? It tells you the weather.” Smith says over his shoulder as he scrubs the pot clean. “It comes from a mortal saying- red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailors delight.”

Trott says nothing. He doesn’t tell Smith what the real warning of that message was.

Selkie tribes went to war when the sky was that color. Word spreads fast in the ocean- the exile of a crown prince looked like a weakness from one tribe to another, and the others would take that as a challenge. The call of war was a furious storm and skies as red as blood.

Smith refills the pot and brings it back to the fire. Kneeling beside the pile of sticks and branches, he pulls a lighter from his pants pocket and adds more flame to the dimly lit kindling.

He fans the flames to light, and walks back over to Trott.

Trott watches Smith hang the cloth up to dry on one of the elder branches, and then the kelpie sits back down in front of him.

“How’re you feeling?” Smith asks warily, pulling the contents of his bag closer and scrabbling through the pile for a tin box. “Are you hungry?”

Trott adjusts the tilt of his head where it leans against the tree. “I’m not.” His body aches, sore and stiff. A headache is starting to pound at his temples.

“You should probably nibble on something. Here.” Smith takes some crackers out of the tin box and holds one up to Trott’s lips.

Trott takes the tiniest bite and chews slowly. Smith has him eat a palmful of crackers, one tiny bite at a time. It’s such a small amount of food, but Trott almost feels nauseous.

Smith stands again and takes the pot off the fire. He digs a spoon out of the pile of things near the elder tree and dusts it off, before ladling hot water into the bowl and letting the ingredients steep.

“Do you want to lie down at all?” He asks, swirling the contents of the bowl. “You’ll have to lay on your side, to mind your shoulder, if you do. I’m not certain you should move all that much.”

“If I move an inch, I’m going to pass out.” Trott says, blinking up at Smith.

“Okay...” Smith murmurs. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“You’ve done _enough_...” Trott sighs, and closes his eyes.

Smith frowns. He opens his mouth and closes it again. “Alright, then...” He looks away, grinding his teeth.

Trott curses internally.

“Smith...”

The kelpie looks back to meet his eyes.

Trott swallows thickly. “What I mean to say...is thank you.” He admits.

Smith kneels down beside him. He cups Trott’s cheek tenderly, trying not to press on the bruises, and stares into his eyes.

"Come with me. To the city.” He pleads. “You don't deserve the way they treated you, Trott."

Trott scowls, and the pain caused by it makes tears brim in his eyes. Smith pulls his hand away.

"It doesn't matter." The selkie mutters lowly.

"You're not thinking of going back-" Smith protests.

Trott barks a laugh with no humor in it. " _Fuck no_. But it doesn't matter." He closes his eyes and leans his cheek against the bark of the tree. His dark grin folds into a grimace. "I can't go back even if I wanted. I _can't._ "

Smith’s gaze travels from Trott’s crownless head to the skin in Trott's lap, bloodstained. It looks like it's in tatters, and the sight finally clicks.

" _Fuck them_." Smith spits. "Fuck them all.” He tighten his hold on the bowl in his hands.

“Fuck the sea, and the people in it.” Trott agrees. The words are a bitter rush of breath.

“I’m not letting you go, anyway.” Smith shakes his head, adamant. “The world is not where you’re from, Trott. There’s more to the world than the fucking ocean.”

Trott looks up at him sadly, frown slight on his exhausted face.

Smith looks back down to Trott’s lap.

“Do you want me to...to clean the blood off?” He asks, staring down at Trott’s selkie skin. “I would have already, but I wanted to ask you. I didn’t want to just...take it.” Smith swallows thickly and meets Trott’s icy, pained eyes.

“It’s alright.” Trott says in the quietest voice, squeezing his eyes shut. “You don’t need to. It’ll...it’s fine.”

“...Are you sure?” Smith asks carefully.

Trott doesn’t reply. He’s trying to block out the images behind his eyes, but if he opens them he’ll be reminded of where he is, and see the skin in his lap. Neither option makes him feel better.

Smith sighs and looks down at the small bowl in his hands. He blows at the steam rising from it. He supposes he’s made a tea of some sort, without the tea itself. The scent burns his nose when he inhales.

When he looks up again, Trott is watching him tiredly.

“Here.” He raises the bowl up to Trott’s lips. “Sip it slow. I’m sure it tastes awful, anyway, and you don’t want that coming back up.”

Trott follows Smith’s instruction. It does taste awful. Bitter, and slightly floral. The sharpness of the herbs burns his mouth and makes his tongue feel numb. He wishes they had more resources, or that he could patch his wounds himself.

What was he even drinking? Trott had no idea if herbs on land were the same as in the sea. He should have asked before he drank Smith’s patchwork remedy. But it was going to have to do for the time being.

The wound in his back would heal quicker than a human’s, with his magic, but the soreness and the mark would persist. The soreness would fade over time. The scar would last forever.

 

* * *

 

Overnight, the storm hits. The wind roars around the tree, whipping the branches and rustling the leaves. The frying pans toll like warning bells.

Smith shields Trott with his body and covers them both in the woolen blanket he has, which manages to keep most of the moisture out. Leaning against the tree, Trott tries to sleep. With the storm so loud, and his memories, and the pain, it’s impossible.

Storms were never this loud under the sea. Lightning and thunder crashes until the sky shakes. Trott has a hard time not flinching- everything sounds like it’s coming from two feet away. For all he knows, it could be.

The blanket around them and Smith’s body heat keeps him warm. Smith is so close Trott can feel his breath on his cheek. It’s pitch black, but the selkie knows Smith’s somehow asleep.

Crazy river folk. Trott supposes they can fall asleep anywhere, if they can sleep this soundly during a thunderstorm.

 

* * *

 

The storm ends before sunrise. In the morning, Smith finds some blackberries for them to eat. The fruit is sweet-tart and juicy, and better than whatever herbal remedy Trott drank the night before.

The forest shows no sign of there being a storm last night, save for the water on the leaves. The ground is wet with mud, but underneath the elder tree they were left completely dry. As the sun comes up, the birds trill song after song at the top of their tiny lungs.

Which is unfortunate, for Trott. He just wants to sleep. The pain is ever-present, but he can feel the magic starting to heal the wound in his back. It will take weeks before he’ll be healed enough to stand, though. He doesn’t dare to try it before he knows for sure that he’s able to move without fainting.

Trott looks over at Smith, who sits beside him. The kelpie is weaving branches together into some sort of pattern.

“What’re you making, again?” He asks him.

“A protection charm to keep you hidden while I’m gone. If anything stumbles around here you’ll be safe.”

“What do I need to hide from?”

Smith shrugs. “Probably nothing. But, just to be sure, you know...” He holds the woven sticks out in front of him for a moment and looks them over. Seemingly satisfied with his work, he sets it carefully in Trott’s blanket-covered lap, and stands up.

“Alright, I’m heading out. I'll be back as soon as I can.” Smith says, kissing Trott’s forehead. He shucks his clothes and stuffs them into his knapsack.

Trott raises an eyebrow, watching Smith step backwards several paces away from him and drop the knapsack on the ground. “You need to get naked to go to the city?”

Smith laughs and gives him a weary grin. “Horses don't wear clothes, mate.”

Trott blinks, and in that second, Smith’s form shifts. Suddenly, there’s a horse standing in front of him. Brown and black in color, with a reddish brown mane and tail.

It’s obviously Smith. He recognizes those eyes of his.

“Fucking _hell_ you’re tall...” Trott murmurs, staring up at the horse towering over him.

Smith leans in, snuffling Trott’s face and sloppily licking his cheek.

“Augh, Smith!” Trott glares in disgust. “Fuck, your breath _reeks_ , mate. _Eugh!_ ”

The horse snorts like it’s laughing. He moves away from Trott and picks up the strap of the knapsack in his mouth.

Trott chuckles.

Smith turns his head and winks, before galloping away through the trees.

 

* * *

 

Trott dozes on and off, and watches nature. There are so many birds he's never seen. The forest is so different than the sea. It’s alive in a completely different way.

If the countryside is this busy, he can’t imagine what it’s like in the city.

Smith is gone around a quarter of the day. He comes back as he left, in horse form, crashing through the underbrush and cantering to a halt in front of Trott. He shifts back to human form and immediately rustles through his pack.

"I got the strongest I could find, so this should do the trick." Smith kneels down in front of Trott, uncorking an itty bitty bottle the size of his palm. The liquid inside is clear and golden. He holds it up to Trott’s lips.

He drinks. Three swallows is all it takes before the bottle is empty. The taste is sweet and cloying, but he instantly feels better, and that surprises him. He can feel the cuts stitching themselves together; the bruises fading rapidly. The wound in his back heals over, and even the soreness has disappeared.

Trott stares back at Smith in shock. His hand shivers as he raises it from his side.

The veil of pain is completely gone.

Trott wipes a smudge of dirt from Smith’s cheek, and plucks blades of glass from his hair.

“How- How much did this cost you?” He asks, dumbfounded.

Smith winces. “All the money I had. Plus extra.”

Trott pales. “Extra what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It better not be a debt!”

Smith shakes his head. He smiles at the fact that Trott has enough energy to berate him. “No, it’s not. I just cashed in a few things. Sold stuff at the pawn shop.”

“Pawn shop?” Trott frowns.

“It’s where you can sell old things you don’t need anymore.” Smith clarifies. “Or where you can get used items cheaply.”

“What’s a pawn?”

“A pawn is a game piece, but in the case of a shop it means expendable, cheap, or a potentially worthy investment. Generally you sell used things for cash or a loan, and the prices vary.”

Trott takes the information in. “How much did you sell to get this medicine?” He asks slowly.

Smith avoids the question. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Trott, don’t worry. Nothing that’ll incur me a debt.”

Trott frowns skeptically. “It better not be.”

“It’s not.” Smith repeats. The kelpie turns and pulls a few more things out of his pack. “Anyway, I got you some clothes, too. Hope this is alright.” He sets down a white button-down shirt and tan pants beside Trott. “I didn’t get any shoes because I didn’t know what size.”

Smith gets up and helps Trott to his feet. Trott stands slowly, letting go of Smith’s hands only when he knows his knees won’t buckle. When he does, Smith leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

Trott kisses him back and reaches up to stroke Smith’s stubbled cheek. The kiss breaks, and he stares into Smith’s moss green eyes.

The kelpie kisses the side of his thumb. “You going to get dressed, or are you just going to stare at me?” Smith grins, and bats his eyelashes. “I know I’m _awfully_ pretty, but-”

“Fuck off.” Trott scoffs. He moves away and tests his legs, walking a few paces away from Smith and the elder tree, and back again. He looks down at himself and then away towards the river. “I should clean up first...” He sighs.

“I can help if you want.” Smith says, stooping over to get dressed himself. He swipes his pants off the ground and shakes the dirt off.

“I’m fine.”

Trott turns and walks towards the river. The water is crystalline and shining in the afternoon light. The sun beams down warmly on top of his head.

Trott steps into the river hesitantly, as if the water will scald him, but it does nothing but lap at his feet. It’s cool but not cold, and deep enough that it goes up to his waist when he wades further in. Trott pretends his hands don’t shake as he starts to wash himself off.

“How’d you learn sigil work, Smith?” Trott asks over his shoulder. “I thought kelpies only have natural charming magic.”

“We do. But most any fae can learn witchery. Most witch-work sort of things I’ve picked up from wood or river fae in exchange for something. In exchange for safe passage through my river when we crossed paths, or respite for the night in their domains. There are lots of things to learn if you’re the wandering kind.” Trott hears the rattling of belongings behind him, and assumes Smith is packing up the remainder of his stuff.

“There was a bridge troll once who called himself Chiron-”

Trott snorts.

“-he’s the one who taught me the woven sigils.”

“And the herbs?”

Smith winces. “That was more of a guess.”

Trott scoffs. “Thanks, Smith- glad you didn’t accidentally poison me!”

“Hey, I knew what I was using, I just wasn't sure how to brew it!” Smith huffs. “Did it help any, or not at all?”

“A little bit.” Trott admits. “The pain dimmed, but only slightly.” _It hadn't lasted long. It wasn't going to, with the injury being what it was._

Smith hums, and mutters something about being lucky, then. Trott rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to study this ‘witchery’ Smith spoke of. He slides his hands up and down his arms, rubs across his chest and around his waist. The pain has been absent. The cuts have healed, and the bruises have disappeared.

It deeply bothers Trott, that Smith would pay so much just to heal him. Magic like that isn’t cheap.  
He would say it feels like a debt, but, if he’s honest, it doesn’t. He doesn’t feel as if he owes Smith anything, though he doesn’t feel worthy or deserving of his help.

Trott cups water into his palms to wipe his face clean. It feels so much better to be free of the grime. Smith had done his best, but he can’t really do the same job as running water can. And Trott had been sitting on the forest floor for the past day.

He continues his conversation with Smith. “Have you wandered far? From where you’re from?” He asks.

“Just along my river, from the lake where I was born, down the moors, and into the forest.” Smith replies. “Follow it long enough, and you reach the sea. I started following that, and that’s where you met me.”

Trott leans over and scrubs the dirt off his legs. “You’re used to all this travelling, then.”

“Yeah. That’ll be new for you. We’ll have to stop at a pawn shop before the city proper. Lots of walking to do, and you’re going to need shoes to go anywhere, Trott.”

Trott straightens up again. He wiggles his toes in the water, and guides his hand back and forth. With the current, and against it. He tries to pretend the water means nothing to him. But this is probably the last time he’ll feel it like this. It’s not the sea, but he wouldn’t want to be in it if it was.

Behind him, he can hear Smith kicking around in the brush. He hopes the kelpie isn’t looking this way, at his back, but he doesn’t want to turn around and look him in the eyes either. Trott wonders what Smith thinks of him. Because Smith’s seen the wound; he’s seen all of him.

Trott purses his lips together, unsure of how he feels about that. Smith shows this deep care that Trott still can’t quite believe.

“Do you need to pay the pawn shop owner again?” He asks, turning his head to the side to project his voice over his shoulder.

“Nah.” Smith laughs. “We won’t go to the same pawn shop, and besides, the pawnbroker’s dead.”

"Dead?" Trott turns around. Smith is leaning against a tree, dismantling the woven sigil he’d made earlier. He doesn’t look up.

"Yeah. Drowned in the river, mate. How do you think I got enough money?” He answers nonchalantly.

Trott blinks. “You-You _stole it_?” He frowns. “Smith, you didn’t need to-”

“Yes I did.” The kelpie says with conviction. He tosses the sticks aside, and shakes his head. “Never you mind it, alright? The body’s in the river, and no one’s going to find it unless I want them to.”

“Smith...”

Smith looks over at him, almost warily. “There’s no record of me being there, Trott.” He reassures. ”It’s fine.”

“If you say so...” Trott sighs. He turns back to the water when Smith turns to his knapsack, and focuses his attention to the task he’s been avoiding.

Trott loosens the selkie skin around his waist. He shoves down the emotions threatening to boil over, and examines it carefully in his hands.

The skin is flayed, torn in thin, long lines along the back. It’s tattered, and it’ll heal, but...

It’ll never be the same.

The weight of it has changed. It’s too light, barely anything. Trott could feel that earlier, but now that he’s gotten a closer look...

There isn’t any magic left- not one scrap of it.

_Would it even work? If I could go back?_

He doesn’t want to know.

Trott cleans the blood off with a hollow ache in his gut. His throat is tight with anguish.

_It doesn’t matter._ He tells himself. _Nothing matters anymore. It never did._

_He_ never did. Not to them.

Trott tightens his grip on his selkie skin. A fallen leaf floats past, and he flicks it away from himself. He cleans the last of the blood off and folds his selkie skin over his arm as he leaves the river. Compartmentalizing, freezing any feelings that dare break through him.

_It doesn’t matter anymore._

At the elder tree, he briefly hangs his skin up, and picks up the clothes Smith bought for him. He puts on the pants first, and then the shirt. The clothes feel wrong, somehow. It’s not a bad thing, he’ll just have to get used to it, but it’s...

_It’s not the same; it’ll never be._

_You made your choice. Now you live with it._

The pain is still absent, even as Trott pulls on the shirt. He wants to know what the wound looks like now that it’s healed, but he doesn’t have a mirror. And he’s afraid to touch it, that the healing will unravel and split, and he’ll be left crying out in pain and terror. _Undeserving._

Smith stretches and pushes away from the tree he’d been leaning up against. He’d been picking at his nails absent-mindedly while Trott got dressed. “Well, now that you’re healed up, we should probably get on our way.” He drawls, scratching at his stubble. “I don’t want to tire you out, so there’s no rush, but I only have so many supplies.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Trott asks, watching Smith walk over to him. He takes his skin down from the elder tree and ties it around his waist. He pretends not to notice how it feels different.

Smith stops in front of him and throws his pack over his shoulder. “Going to the city, Trotty. Lights, cars, and people of all kinds. I’ve been there quite a lot, but I have to admit I get lost sometimes.” He admits with a smile.  
  
Trott gives him a small smile back. He brushes his hair out of his eyes. “I guess we’ll get lost together, then.” He says.

Smith grins. “Yeah. Guess so.” He shyly offers Trott his hand. Held out in front of him, palm up, fingers outstretched.

Trott hesitates for a moment. He thinks of crashing waves, and the sound of shells. The breeze blows a gust of air towards them, smelling like forest and moss, and Trott thinks instead of moonlit nights and skin glowing with neon blue. He slowly reaches out, and takes Smith’s hand.

Smith smiles, and leads the way towards the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this fic, I’ve officially crossed the 100,000 word mark for this series. AND it’s been a year since I started this series (over a year since I got sucked into the UMY AU).  
> It’s amazing, to sit back and see all that I’ve accomplished with these stories. I never imagined to write so much or get the little attention I have, but yet it is by no means small.  
> Writing used to be something I did for myself only, something I more or less kept to myself- at least, the kinds of stories I tell here. And I still write for me, but deciding to share it and deciding to start writing on the regular again was one of the best decisions I've ever made. I've never had this kind of overwhelming support for something I'm passionate about, not to this scale. And the idea that something I wrote has done something for others? It's the coolest, most rewarding thing.  
> All your support (whether comments, kudos, bookmarks, art, reblogs/recs, or simply reading) means the world to me. I can’t thank you enough for that- I feel so unbelievably lucky, to be able to write and share these stories with you, and to get to know you all a little bit in exchange. I have such immense respect for all of you.  
> Thank you for everything. I hope the next 100,000 words proves just as fantastic of a journey as the previous set <3.
> 
> [ extra writer-questions about the work ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/11/here-lies-the-water-here-stands-the-man-questions)
> 
> [ rambling about the year, because I'm a nostalgic sap ](https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/03/11/march-11th-2015-to-2016)
> 
> if anyone wants a beta, I'd be interested in helping out. shoot me an email @gmail.com
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/128248785555  
> the river and the sea
> 
> http://bibliotecha-secreta.tumblr.com/post/116411643993/elder-mother
> 
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/124149693391/vasantha-yogananthan-la-traversée  
> http://urbanmagicaesthetic.tumblr.com/post/124397471939/90377-distant-blur-by-mats-forsman  
> Smith and Trott going to the city
> 
> http://whenlifemeantmore.tumblr.com/post/102676525906  
> the city


End file.
